The Ninth Lie
by wingedpixie
Summary: It is the first century of Usagi's reign, and Luna is married. But she hears news of a certain scientist from her past, and as she sits at his deathbed, she recalls their brief time together.


The Ninth Lie  
  
By wingedpixie  
  
Disclaimer: Sailor Moon is not mine, but somehow I think you already knew that. What you may not know is that I am truly disappointed when people take my work without asking, so please, if you don't mind, talk to me first.  
  
AN: Well, this is about Luna and the love of her lifetime. If you can get a hold of the Sailor Moon manga number 11, I would definitely recommend it as one of the most moving in the series. What follows is an interpretation, so don't bite my head off. (I'm rather fond of it. ^.^ ) It's set during Usagi's reign, but Luna is thinking back to the scouts' earlier days.  
  
  
  
Yesterday my love died, his soft white hair resting over his eyes and his fingers curled together. So quietly did he go that I did not notice the air was mine alone to breathe, until I trailed my hand down his chest where silence festered. Oh how silent, and my own heart feebly beat like a lone musician filling a darkened theater with mournful notes.  
  
And in my mind the snow fell, a harsh glitter, which came to rest in my long hair and melted down my naked back in streams. Often my feet slid on the pavement, smooth and shiny as glass, and reflected in its face a clouded image of black and yellow gauze trailed after me.  
  
Cheery colored lights winked in the shop windows that I sped past; they seemed a cruel mockery, so bright yet giving off no warmth. They hung from heavy garlands of sweet-scented pine needles and tinted the clothed manikins pink and green.  
  
But in the street all was white and glinting. The pale yellow cones of light cast by the street lamps were filled with whirling flakes, and to my right I could hear a faint "chink, chink" as granules of ice struck a metal bench. Like the empty shells of long dead sentries the trees stood, their bare arms stabbing at the sky. Beneath me the snow spilled onto the sidewalk, powdery and deep as few had ventured there to stamp it down. The hem of my dress sucked at my legs and dripped forlornly, but ahead, slumped between two birch trees, whose tops bent with the wind, was a sight that shot sparks through my veins.  
  
My pale skin seemed to crackle as I ran, and tearing through the muted grey sky, a mighty fork of lightning lit his face. "My love!" I wailed, though none were there to hear my shrieked confession, even if the thunder hadn't blanketed my words. To my knees I fell, plumes of snow flying up around me and hissing back to the ground. Gloveless and cold, my hands cradled his cheeks, and raw tears streamed from my eyes, freezing as they fell. In his chest I could feel a gentle thrumming.  
  
And yesterday that tender sound, which I've listened for each night before I've slept ... it stopped. How quiet it was in that white-walled hospital room and how strangely dry my eyes. The long rows of ceiling lights flickered and buzzed.  
  
Our love was like an icicle, pure and gleaming, a lovely moment frozen at its peak. And it seared my hand if I tried to hold it for longer than that, just an instant.  
  
It was not my name he whispered when he died.  
  
Outside my door a man is waiting, his voice soft with concern and his long white hair swept back from his face. I rise on slender feet, as unsteady as they were that winter night, and press past his outstretched arms.  
  
"Be silent, Artemis!" I hiss, watching him gape at me out of the corner of my eye. My fingers curve instinctively, though I no longer have claws, and I am seized with a vicious desire to scratch him, to slash my husband's face where hurt and confusion are etched. But I am running, a deathly quiet in my heart.  
  
My arms begin to ripple with black fur, and my nose shrinks to a pink, whiskered nub, for this human form was made for him, to be his dream embodied, his goddess of the moon before he found another to fill that task. And now he has found her again, merged with her beyond the physical body and the mortal world. Are they together now, in the stars?  
  
Over the dusty white surface of the moon I fly, leaping the craters with bunched muscles, my claws outstretched. And it is here, on the lip of a giant dip with the swirling greens and blues of the earth before me, that I finally cry. My tears are warm as they seep into my fur, and my heart stutters against its cage of ribs. An audible beat; how comforting it is.  
  
"Goodbye," I murmur, things shattering and singing and healing within me. "Goodbye, Kakeru." He has gone where I, an immortal member of the lunar court cannot go. And as I tell myself to be happy for him, my throat squeezes shut.  
  
"You were ... a wonderful friend," I manage. The ninth lie. But how could I ever tell him, how much more his yellow ribbon and star-shaped candies meant. I rest my head on my paws, my whiskers gathering powder from the ground, and I could swear, as my eyes flutter shut, that the moon, so pock- marked and hard, has gained a heartbeat. 


End file.
